Death will find me alive
by a secret admirer
Summary: As we all know, Carlisle Cullen has his own way of 'saving' lives. So when he finds Bella -left for dead in London of 1888- needless to say he can't wait to uhm, sink his teeth in. But who gets the girl in 1918, when they meet the green-eyed Edward Masen?
1. CPR lisle

_Disclaimer: Twilight's not mine. Apparently there's more to it than wishful thinking. Stupid rules ...they wouldn't even let me have Phil._

**Summary:** It's 1888 and Londons' most famous killer is on the loose. His next victim? Well, it shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone that_ that _would be none other than Isabella, the daughter of Detective Charles Swan. Meanwhile, in light of the recent murders, Carlisle Cullen is sent to London by the Volturi to set matters straight. Fate crosses their paths just in time for Carlisle to save Isabella from certain death, the only way he knows how. He takes her under his wing and the two seem to get along quite well. Quite well indeed... So what will happen thirty years later in Chicago, when these two lovebirds meet the green-eyed Edward Masen? - A tale of murder, misguided love, and misplaced puns.

_My wonderful Beta random-lemon made this story the best it can be. She's my personal (brand of) heroin and without her I'd be lost._

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Should you ever find yourself alone in the study of dr. Carlisle Cullen someday, make sure to read one of his journals. You'll find them lined up neatly and in perfect order behind his desk, one for each year he's been -for lack of a better word- _around_. But should you look closely, you'll find that there is one year missing;

_1888._

Now, I suggest you look for _that_ inside the ancient, leather bound, medical reference book, titled '_A Physicall Directory'._ He keeps this on display in his ebony showcase against the wall opposing the window. Open it somewhere in the middle and you'll see that he's made a secret compartment by cutting out a square in just enough pages to fit the missing journal, perfectly. As with the other journals, on its spine you'll find the date; 1888. Smudges of blood adorn the frayed cover and through them, written with a quill in the most elegant longhand you'll ever see, you should be able to make out the word:

**___'Undoing'_**

...Curious? Then look below for an excerpt from that very journal.

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The smell hit me like a ton of bricks.

_Blood._

_Human _blood, and with an appeal that was hard to resist even for me. It seemed like too much for anyone to lose, without losing their life as well.

And for the first time in many, _many_ years, I felt the urge to taste it.

Closing my eyes I could almost taste it, almost feel that warm liquid quench the thirst that had lit up the back of my throat like a bonfire. Before I could act on the impulse, the unmistakable smell of another vampire snapped me out of my daze and alerted my senses. Hints of leather, oak, and a touch of cologne told me that _he_ was the one I was looking for.

I had to hurry. I had lost his trail a week before, and it had forced me to prolong my stay in this dreaded place. I would never be able to forgive myself for the innocent life that was lost here tonight, because I had failed to stop this maniac seven days ago.

I started running, not bothering to hold back speed since, there seemed to be no one out on these streets but him, me, and of course the human he had killed. I made my way to the corner of a nearby back street and as I got closer, both scents got stronger and more distinct, indicating he was still with his victim.

I was taken aback by my reaction to the blood; my throat had started burning and venom was seeping into my mouth. So much, that I had to swallow it back. I paused a moment to collect myself. After decades of being in perfect control of my bloodlust, _this_ was new to me. However I refused to let it get the better of me.

I took deep, short breaths, trying to familiarize myself with the smell that for some reason provoked my instincts like none other ever had. When all that did was make things worse, I decided to go with holding my breath altogether. It took a while longer than I had hoped, but after a few breathless minutes the thirst had receded. Once again confident in my control, as well as my game plan, I turned into the alley.

I found him there, cowering over a lifeless body. He had been too entranced by his victim to notice my approach up until now, but as soon as I had turned the corner, he _knew_. Naively, I had expected him to defend his 'meal' from me, which would have made him an easy target due to the predictability of rash, instinctual behavior. The Volturi had taught me a lot, and years and years of practice had made me a skilled fighter to say the least. The brutality of the five murders he had committed prior to this one, had led me to believe he was a sadistic, but above all an impulsive killer.

Therefore he surprised me when, without hissing, growling or fighting, he simply stood up and ran. He never even turned to look at me, as if he already knew who I was. I started to chase after him, but almost immediately I was stopped dead in my tracks.

It couldn't be...

Barely audible, even to my ears, was the faintest sound of a beating heart.

Still holding my breath, I turned to look at the human that I had considered to be dead just moments ago.

It was on its back, with the head tilted to one side. A girl. Long, dark, wavy hair draped delicate, porcelain shoulders and covered part of her face. The back of her hair was matted by the girls' own blood, and it stuck to the pavement like wet autumn leaves. Her frail limbs lay lifeless across her broken body, her right arm in angle that left no question that it was dislocated and broken in more than one place. The hand was battered, the fingernails bloody. I let my gaze wander. To my surpise I didn't find a single bite mark, but on every single place I let my eyes rest I could see damage, done by my sick, twisted congener. Apart from her face, he had made sure to leave no part of her unscathed.

Kneeling down beside her, an inexplicable sense of loss washed over me. I carefully turned her head in my direction, and wiped away a few strands of hair that hid her heart-shaped face from me. The peaceful expression I was met wit was such a paradox. Her lips showed no signs of fear, or hurt. Her eyes were closed, and the long, dark eyelashes adorning them were in a shrill contrast to her skin, which was pale and flawless, almost like my own. She was beautiful, a vision, and I felt strangely drawn to her. Somehow, she seemed special.

It caught me off guard when I felt my eyes sting with useless, overdue tears for this innocent human girl, I wished I had known sooner.

Her small, strong heart was still desperately pumping blood, determined to keep her alive. Though I could hear that despite of its resolve, it was getting weaker by the minute. Soon, she would be dead and there was nothing I could do. Reminding myself to be rational about this, I rearranged her torn clothes so she was at least decent and then turned to walk away, to let her die in peace. I would resume my pursuit of her attacker, I would find him, and -for her- I would_ kill_ him.

But something wouldn't let me.

_Carlisle..._

That voice... It sent a shiver down my spine. I should not even have recognized it, after all it hadn't spoken to me in over two hundred years.

But it spoke _now_, and I recognized it all too well. It was a voice that only cared for itself. One that took, without giving. A voice I thought I had overcome centuries ago, yet here it was, taunting me from the deepest, darkest depths of my being.

The voice of the monster.

He didn't tell me to kill, like he used to do when I was still a newborn. Nor did he order me to fight. Not this time. After having patiently waited in silence for centuries, he wanted something else entirely. The monster didn't care for her blood, even though it was obvious that it called to him. But he wouldn't touch it, because to my disgust there was _one thing_ he wanted, even more.

_Change her._

He wanted her soul. Never before had I even _considered_ condemning anyone else to this cursed existence I had for a life. It would be the worst thing I could do.

_Would it? _

Behind all my objections to turning this girl into a demon like myself, I felt a foreign warmth spread through my body at the mere thought of having her in my 'life' and involuntarily, a genuine smile formed on my face and I hated myself for it.

_I'm sure _she_ will bring you the peace you seek, Carlisle. The human girl__ is what brought you here. You wouldn't be doing anything wrong. I know you feel the pull towards her. _

Before I knew it, I was back on the ground, cradling her. It was like a part of me that had been dormant up until now had taken over, rendering the rational part of me powerless. With one hand I supported the back of her head, and I could only look as my other hand left the small of her back to pull back her hair, exposing the soft flesh of her neck to me.

_Admit it! She calls to you. There's no point in fighting destiny._

I buried my face in the crook of her bruised, but nevertheless perfect neck, and against my better judgement, I inhaled deeply. She smelled heavenly, of lavender and freesia. The venom forming in my mouth warned me to be very careful, by showing me how little was left of the self control I had always taken for granted. Although, I don't think the monster would have allowed me to accidently kill her.

_You need her. You _deserve_ her._

Still battling against my inner demon, still not sure of what I was going to do, I foolishly took a breath. It was my last, and obviously counterproductive attempt to think straight. Or maybe I just wanted to let that divine aroma torture me some more. I felt myself slipping, and getting lost in her. Her scent, her beauty, and her warmth. I craved it all, so much it caused me to shake all over.

_She's yours._

The monster was winning, and I cared less with every second that passed. My face moved over her skin, of its own accord it seemed, revelling the feel of her warmth and the throbbing of her artory against my marble skin, until my teeth were at the base of her throat.

_Save her._

_..._

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Unfortunatley, this is where the page shows signs of ...mischief. From the right corner up, blackisch, burn-like marks grace the age-old parchment, leaving the rest of the words mainly irrecoverable. If you didn't know any better, you'd say it's almost as if someone has tried to hide or maybe even _forget _what had ensued.

So what did happen next?

Twice, the good-natured doctor was asked to tell that story himself. On both occasisons he looked away to stare at nothing in particular, while his eyes glazed over and seemed to turn an uncharacteristic, deep black. Judging by each of his features seperately one would have concluded that apart from his eyes, his face appeared unchanged by the memory. But somehow, if you took in his entire bearing, from it you could read a strange mixture of pain, disgust and desire.

He always claimed not to remember and perhaps that's true. However those few who, like Carlisle, have experienced the bliss of tasting the blood of their singer argue that he'll _never_ be able to forget the sound of her whimpering, the feel of her flesh tearing and the most heavenly taste ever to have touched his tongue, that followed.

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Uh oh, dr. Cullen seems to be quite smitten there, I mean that display was qui- **_"_Yeah sure, sure secret admirer, but where were all the misplaced puns you promised?"**  
_Oh, for the love of all things soulless..._ Someone sort of died and you're worried about the pun? Please understand, this was Carlisle at his lowest. Vampires don't do pun at their _lowest_. But don't worry, there will be more chapters. And there will be pun. And it will be misplaced.

In the meantime, may I recommend a short visit to my profile? It's _the_ place to find links to pictures concerning this story, in case you're curious about what that locket looks like exactly, or Bella's dress, or a general impression of each chapter, etc etc. But before you go, I hope you'll review.


	2. Hell's Bells

Thank you guys for reading, alerting, fav'ing, PM'ing and especially for all your lovely reviews. You people are the best! You can thank Jaspers temptress for landing Bella's mind in the gutter, (right next to my own,) and a special thanks with confetti, discodip and a big bow on top goes to my Beta 'random-lemon' for many things. One of them would have to be amazingness.

**Okidoki enough with the small talk. ****Let's hear it for Mr. storyteller! Can I have a d**rumroll, please..!  
*drums a rollin*

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So you see, no matter how harmless he may come across, never forget that essentially even the benign doctor Cullen is subject to the inhuman tendencies that attribute his very nature…

The tendencies of the monster.

For it is always lurking in the shadows, always alert, and always awaiting the perfect opportunity to corrupt anything that's pure. Anything that _it_, is not. And remember that once this monster has made up its mind, even one with a resolve as strong as Carlisle's will have no choice but to bend to its will. This is a lesson every vampire will learn at some point, and one the seemingly harmless Carlisle Cullen had to be taught the hard way.

If you were to search his study, you'll find he keeps a reminder of this –a precious golden locket- safely hidden away in the locked drawer of his desk. So he'll never forget how poor Isabella had to suffer the consequences of _his_ weakest moment.

What consequences, you ask? When asked this very question herself at one point, Bella answered: "_My father once told me to spread my wings, but I doubt he would have done that, had he known it would land me in hell._"

...Curious? Why not let _her_ explain?

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Ever since my mother died, my father had been adamant in telling me there was no God.

In those days, mocking churchmen became his favorite pastime and Nietzsche his favorite man to quote. In fact, it was only two months ago when, for my eighteenth birthday, he had given me a golden locket. Engraved in the back were the words: '_A casual stroll through the lunatic asylum, shows that faith does not prove anything.'_

_It must have cost a small fortune, judging by the look of it. It was a very delicate piece of jewelry. When I turned it over I saw that on the front, imbedded with tiny white pearls, was a swallow. It flew towards a branch that was adorned by a different color gem on all three of its limbs._

_"Happy birthday Princess." He jested, grinning mischievously._

_Before I could protest against the amount of money he had obviously spent, he rolled his eyes and said: "Don't worry, it was your mothers. All I did was have someone add the inscription." He averted his gaze as a sad smile appeared on his face. Looking back at me, he continued: "She used to say: '_Charles, I may be a Swan now, but before I met you I was a swallow_.'" His eyes twinkled at the memory. "Swans were too passive for your mother. Too safe. She'd want you to spread your wings and explore the world." He forced his best 'wasn't-she-silly?' look on his face while he made flying movements with his hands, but I could see that there were tears in his eyes. He missed her just as much as he did twelve years ago. Then, biting back tears and tapping the bird on my locket he gave me an intense look and coaxed: "You be like that swallow, Bells. That's all I want for you."_

_His voice skipped, and I could feel my own eyes tearing up now. To save us both the embarrassment I just managed to say: "It's beautiful, thank you." before I pulled him into a warm hug, a gesture he was only too happy to return._

_Swans didn't cry._

_We sat there for a while, until he kissed my forehead and finally stood up. Walking over to the door he added: "Remember, you make your own happiness in this world. I still need to hear a good story that has the protagonist hiding behind some God, so he doesn't have to live his life."_

_At the door, he gave me a playful wink and with that, he left the room._

It was the last time I saw him.

Now, most people would disagree with him where God was concerned, but if there was one thing my father knew about, it was a good story. I remember being a little girl, with my father at the foot of the bed. He never needed a book to get me to listen to him for hours on end, completely absorbed by the world of fantasy he created through his passion and enthusiasm. He would tell me about villains, dragons, fair maidens and fearless knights.

Or well, usually in his stories the knights were fair and the maidens fearless. He had always made point of stressing that I didn't need _anyone_ to stand up for me, least of all a _man_.

Nevertheless, in spite (or maybe _because_) of the way he raised me, there was one man's protection I would always crave; _His_.

He was my hero, and I his princess. I would have believed anything he told me. So if my father said there was no God then, _there was no God_.

Too bad he had been wrong.

Because as it turned out, there _was _a God. And right now, _he_ was punishing me for not believing in him.

In hell.

Yes, _hell._

That's where I had to be, because a fire -hot, unforgiving and excruciating- raged through my body like water through a shoot. It traveled up and down, making sure each and every part of me was either lit, smoldering or flat out burning. It made me wish -no, _pray_- for an escape in _any_ way, shape, or form. If that meant ceasing to exist and dissolving into nothing, then so be it. That was how I had always imagined death to be anyway. I would have chosen oblivion over this, any day of the week.

The pain made it almost impossible for me to cry, scream, or even move. And every time I thought it couldn't possibly get any worse, a whole new level of pain and heat would emerge from the flames until finally, everything beneath my skin felt like molten rock.

I didn't know how long I had been like this. It could have been seconds, days, even years. Time seemed to be both absent and redundant here. After all, what's time in hell? It's not like I had somewhere to be, ever again.

I would have lost all hope, if not for a sudden touch of something cold against my forehead. The sensation made me gasp in relief but unfortunately, it went as fast as it came. Much like that little gust of wind that sometimes manages to find you on a sweltering summers day; The cooling effect nowhere near enough to actually help, but more than enough to leave you longing for more.

Times a million.

While the fire continued its relentless crusade through my limbs, I prayed for more of whatever it was, that had just offered me a small reprieve from the scorching heat. I couldn't hear my own pleads, in fact, I wasn't even sure if I had verbalized them. All I could hear was a rushing sound, like the one you hear when you hold a seashell against your ear, only much, much louder. I hoped that God would hear me regardless, and that maybe, just maybe, he'd take a pity.

He didn't.

The fire raged on, this time without anything to soothe or even distract me and my praying for salvation quickly turned into something far more desperate. I could even hear myself now, screaming over the ongoing noise in the background, begging for anything but this, to anyone that would listen. If God wouldn't, then maybe the devil would. I didn't care. At that moment, selling my soul seemed like a small price to pay if it would free me from this torture.

Then, like a thief in the night, came salvation.

It came in the form of the coolness I had felt against my forehead not long ago, and that now pressed itself against my cheek. I could tell it was a hand. A large, cold hand, so I figured it belonged to a man. Terrified that he would pull it back from my face a second time, I forced myself to mutter my gratitude to whomever he was and I brought one of my own hands up to his, to keep it in place.

To my relief, he seemed to understand what I needed and carefully placed his other hand on my chest, just below my neck, assuaging a little of the anguish that lingered there. I heard myself let out a sigh at the respite it offered.

Normally, an unknown man touching my chest would not cause me to sigh in pleasure at the contact. It would more likely cause me to blush and scream, followed by him, crying out in pain which would most likely be located somewhere right below the waist.

But in hell, I saw no harm in lowering my standards for a while, since his touch brought me such sweet release.

So, when he eventually covered my legs with one of his, I sighed. When I felt his face against mine, I sighed. Just like I sighed when I felt the hand that had been on my face travel down to my neck, and when the other one subsequently made its way to my waist. The more he moved, the more distraction he offered so all I could do was welcome it.

"I'm so sorry," he finally whispered against my neck, "it'll be over soon. I promise."

Something made me believe him. Maybe it was the genuine concern in his voice. Maybe it was the gentleness with which he held me. Maybe it was just me, wanting more than anything to believe someone telling me that this wouldn't last forever.

But it probably was the tingling sensation his cold breath sent from my neck all the way down to my lower back.

He sounded young but I couldn't be sure. Because not only had he whispered, there was also some sort of throbbing sound which had slowly drowned out the rushing seashell noise completely. At first I just assumed that it was my own heartbeat, especially since it was in such perfect synchronism with something that very much _felt_ like the beating of my heart, albeit much more intense. But that theory was soon dismissed, because it more or less contradicted the one in which I was _dead_.

Because I may not have attended mass every Sunday, (or _any_ Sunday for that matter,) but I was quite sure one had to pass _death,_ in order to get to hell.

'_Or purgatory', _my mind added.

Purgatory… That actually made some sense. Maybe I wasn't doomed just yet. Maybe I was brought here to repent for being a heretic, but because it was the only commandment I had ever broken -at least to my knowledge- this was only _temporary_. Maybe there was a chance of salvation after all.

Maybe that's why I still had a heartbeat, and somebody in here with me. I'm sure people like Judas and Vlad the Impaler were never granted such luxuries in death.

He kept on gently rearranging his hands, legs, and face every few minutes, cooling me down in the process. It didn't really take away the pain. Not even close. But somehow, perhaps simply by providing me with something to focus on other than flames, the pain and the hopelessness, it made everything a bit more bearable.

"More, please." I heard myself whimper, not really caring how I sounded. At that point, had he decided to undress the both of us in order to cover me completely with his coldness I don't think I would have protested.

_I might have cheered him on._

A cold thumb brushed the side of my breast. I doubt it was intentional because before I even realized it was there in the first place, it was gone. I have to admit that part of me was slightly disappointed that it didn't linger because it had startled me to the point that it actually managed to -for just a second- make me forget all about the pain. Hoping for another moment just like it, I tried to concentrate as much as possible on my saviors cold touch. I kept telling myself it was the _cold_ I craved, rather than the _touch_.

I wasn't convinced.

_Nice, Bella._ Even in purgatory, quite possibly my very last chance to redeem my sins, I still seemed to lack any sense of self-preservation. One unchaste touch and my mind went straight to the gutter. Another good reason for God to keep me down here, I'm sure. Clearly my survival instincts were once again unparalleled in their absence.

However, quite literally _going through hell_ seemed like a very good excuse for this. And by my side was this man, my very own silver lining who by touching me, was the only thing keeping me from losing my mind. And although sanity was probably the last thing one needed here, I still valued mine. So it would have to be a cold day in hell -_which it wasn't_- before I would ask him to get his hands off me. I'm sure God would understand.

Although…

How did that prayer go again? _'…lead us not into temptation…'_

...

Temptation?

What if this was all _a_ _test_? What if the one thing keeping me grounded, was also the one thing that kept me stuck here? What if _he_ was my forbidden fruit; The temptation I was supposed to resist? What if he was everything _but_ an angel? Well not exactly _not_ an angel but …_the_ _angel of death? _A wolf in sheep clothes. What if this was all a test, and resisting _him_ was my only way to prove to the Almighty that I didn't belong here?

My ticket to heaven.

I considered this for a moment and decided it was worth a try. Realizing that this meant I would have to ask the devil himself to leave, maybe even physically remove him from me, taking his soothing caresses with him, caused both the burning of the flames and the soothing qualities of his touch to increase tenfold. Or my perception of them at least. The spirit may have been willing but the flesh was weak.

Speaking of the devil, he chose this very moment to move his face against my ear and inhale deeply, sending another round of tingles and shivers down my spine and making my heart skip a beat. Or two.

Good God in heaven…

The flesh was weak, indeed. And all of a sudden the spirit didn't seem all that willing anymore, either. This wasn't going to be easy.

I probably shouldn't have enjoyed that as much as I had because immediately, before I was able to either push the, uhm, '_cold one'_ off me or become like wax in his hands, something changed.

Just like that the fire in my limbs, head and torso evanesced, and my heart was the only thing left burning. It probably sounds a lot better than it was because there were still as many flames in my body as there had been, only now they were all concentrated solely in and around my heart, crowding each other and burning with an intensity that would make any volcano lower its head in defeat.

God was not amused.

I arched my back in pain and let out a scream that sounded horrific. It lacked all humanity, like it didn't even come from me. Pure and unbridled anguish disguised as a sound.

My heart rate sped up, reaching an unmeasurable amount of beats per minute and felt like a battering ram playing woodpecker with my chest. I started thrashing my arms around uncontrollably and clenched my jaw to smother any more screams, because th icy sound over the frantic, irregular beating of my heart was so unnerving that it would certainly make the whole ordeal even worse.

Like sunlight through a magnifying glass, the heat kept building and building in a spot that kept shrinking and shrinking and I was losing all thought, all hearing, all of everything, leaving only pain to swallow me whole.

I felt a cold forehead press against my own. "You're almost there. This is the last of it." He said softly while stroking my hair and taking my hands in one of his, placing small kisses on each of my fingers and I decided there and then that the devil wasn't so black as he was painted.

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But poor Bella didn't believe him this time. For all hope she'd had before, had now been consumed by the fire.

The transition from human to vampire is a painful one. In the private library located in the Volterra undercrofts, there are many books regarding the matter, describing almost each stage of the change in perfect detail.

But then there is the final phase of this transformation, in which the amount of suffering is unprecedented even if you were to devide it by a thousand. The moment referred to by the Italians as '_Il fuoco finale_'. The heart stops beating and turns to stone, and one actually has to _die_ in order to be born again. Some have tried using words to describe it, but only one came close. I believe it was Marcus who once wrote:

_"Prova a descrivere questo dolore a chi non l'ha vissuto, e ti sentirai presto come se stessi descrivendo un tramonto ad una persona senza occhi." _

Which means so much as:

_"Try to describe this pain to one who hasn't felt it, and you'll soon feel as though you are describing a sunset to one without eyes."_

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**No, wait... Maybe it was:**_ "Reviewingi isi concideredi awesomei" _...please?


	3. Bloody Bell

**Monster A/N:  
**Bongiorno! First of all, thanks to those who reviewed, fav'ed and just took the time to read this. You knock my socks off.  
I will have to admit that this chapter is all thanks to my 'Beta'/ co-writer, Random-Lemon. She really is something else. She PM'd me, because I was taking my sweet time, and offered to write her -and I quote- '_own little mini version_' of this chapter. Then when she sent it to me a few days later, it was **3810** words long, and it was brilliant. So in all honesty I just went from there, making a few slight changes but really, up until the sentence: "What…am…I?", 99.9% of this story is her writing. (You can also tell by the huge drop in quality from that point onwards;) Any who, she got me all inspired and writing again, hence this ridiculously long chapter. It's half hers, half mine. We're both very pleased with the outcome and we hope you are too!  
**What have we learned from the monster A/N?  
**I suck, your patience is very much appreciated and Random-Lemon owns my buttocks.

**Warning:**  
This chapter contains dark themes and sexual violence, nothing very graphic, but if you're opposed to reading about any of that, then don't read the flashback, which is in Italics.

**Okay everyone, take some deep breaths and get the chocolate because finally, here's chapter 3!  
***confetti and fireworks galore*

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Isabella was searching for something.

In the depths of the hell that she was surfacing from, she searched for the sound that had pulled her through. When the fiery spit felt as though it were lodged inside her chest, she had existed, doing nothing more than counting each and every erratic thump.

Thump…thump, thump….thump, thump…

1…2, 3…4, 5…

It had gone on for what seemed like millennia. She had counted to one hundred, which was the highest number she had been exposed to, a hundred times, and then she had done that a hundred times more.

Now her body was beginning to feel some semblance of relief from its tortured sentence in purgatory; so why had she stopped counting?

Again, she listened, desperate to find proof of the one thing that had kept her sane during her trial, but the silence surrounding her was deafening.

Where was it?

Where was the beating of her heart?

…Curious? Then just imagine the curiosity our dark-haired beauty felt herself. Although it should be said, that her thirst for knowledge on the matter, paled in comparison to a much stronger, a much darker thirst. Isn't that right Isabella?

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Surely I was dead! Or perhaps I was having some sort of out of body experience.

Then I felt my nails dig painfully into the palms of my hands.

So, I'm not dead, and I'm certainly still within my body.

That's when I heard it. Not the heartbeat that I so yearned for, but something that had been almost equally as soothing during my time of burning.

"Oh thank goodness," the soft, smooth, baritone exclaimed quietly, "I think you are starting to come out of it."

I felt his hands caressing my head; one lifting it slightly by the nape of my neck, the other running its fingers softly over the contours of my face; and it made me jump. Not from the temperature, in fact the hands felt much warmer then they had previously, and if I hadn't known that those hands and the voice were connected, I wouldn't have believed that this was the same person.

It was the touch itself.

It caused my senses to switch back on.

Suddenly my mind felt as though it was being bombarded by messages from every corner of my body.

The sounds of the horse drawn carriages traveling over the cobblestone street, the shouts of vendors advertising their goods; certainly not something out of the ordinary, except that now I could hear the crumbling of cobble granules as they gave way under the weight of carriage wheels, and the rasping breathes of the merchants, as well as the plink that would sound when they would spray their words in exuberance.

I could feel each clump of dirt, minuscule food and cloth scrapes, even the droppings of the lovely London rodent population, as I lay upon them in this… This what? I wanted to scan the confinement I was in to see if I recognized anything, but I was soon distracted by the fact that, when I blinked, I could see the complex mesh of pigments that stained my eyelids.

And smell. I inhaled, expecting to smell the pungent scents of breads, spices, roasting meats, and horse manure. And I did, but what hit me the hardest was an overwhelming metallic scent. It was entirely unpleasant, causing my throat to start to burn almost as severely as my body had been just moments earlier. Yet at the same time, I don't think that I had ever craved something with so much of my being. I craved it; not only as a means to quench the burning in my throat, which my instincts assured me it would, but also because I wanted to find the source, to witness what it was that could produce such an intoxicating nectar.

My body had shot up, popping into the air with just the slightest push of my fingers against the earth and landing in an unfamiliar, yet somehow natural seeming crouch, before my mind ever had a chance to catch up to it. Heck, I was just now telling my eyes to try and focus.

I was not taking in my surrounding's, I was just trying to find the source of the elixir I so desperately craved.

It was everywhere, different variations of the same smell moving past and wafting through the window, which was devoid of any glass panes, every few seconds.

I tried to locate the nearest source, my mind still not allowing me to connect the dots as to the merchant of the liquid. I closed my eyes and concentrated. There it was, right below me.

My eyes were opening, but already my fingers were on the floor below me, and coming back up. I held my palm, now covered with all types of matter, in front of my face to examine it. On it there was dirt, dust, and a tepid but quickly cooling red liquid.

I touched the tip of my pointer finger to my lips, before letting my tongue poke out and swipe the run off; in an instant the burning in my throat subsided, causing a moan of relief to escape me.

I quickly moved on to the next finger, and the next, and in no time at all, my hand was spotless.

I could feel the dirt that I had also ingested sitting like a lead ball in the pit of my stomach, but it was easy to ignore as my hand returned to the ground.

Again and again I cleaned the ether from my hand, until I reached down for more and came up with not but dirt.

Upon the realization that my source of relief had run its course, my throat decided it needed to rub that fact in, and immediately it began to burn.

The difference was, this time it was worse, far worse.

I was desperate for relief, and my head whipped to the side instantly, drawn to the window.

Somewhere out there, there was more if the amazing red liquid. I had to find it, and do everything within my power to obtain as much of it as I could.

I turned; launching myself through the remains of the window and towards the street, but before I could even set foot on the alley floor a sudden force hit me from behind, like one of those steam powered freight ships in the harbor.

I was on the ground in moments and my mind immediately reverted back to the last memory that I had.

_My knees were bruised and bleeding from being forced to the ground; the skin on my palms, forearms, and elbows tearing painfully as well. His hands were on me again. One like an iron vice gripping my waist, the other pulling me back by my hair and forcing the front of my body up against the brick wall that I had been cowering against only moments before._

_The hem of my dress was torn, its' cotton fabric ruined, and my winter shall lay in a sodden mess on the ground a few meters down the alley._

_He moved my hair all the way to one side before beginning to lick my neck in earnest._

_His hands were switching off between rubbing up the outer part of my thigh, running rough caressing fingers over the curve of my bottom, and wondering around to my front, where they would touch my inner thigh before traveling to the cusp of my womanhood. These obtrusive touches caused my body to shudder, convulsing, in absolute and utter fear._

_My mind however, was torn. I was in danger, yes; but Charlie…he wasn't here. That meant this monster, this disgusting, horrid, filthy, sorry excuse of a man, didn't have him. He was safe. My father was safe. I was in mortal danger, I would die tonight; but at least that meant that Charlie didn't have to._

_And so, terrified as I was, I couldn't bring myself to regret any of the decisions that had brought me to this point. I would be dying in place of the person who was most dear to me. Surely it was a good way to die, in the place of someone I loved._

_I expected the stink of many weeks without a wash, and alcohol, but instead he smelled very pleasant. It was woodsy and sweet and it sickened me even more. His actions were those of an animal and by god he should smell like one._

_His hips were moving now, thrusting in a broken staccato. I could feel the hard steel of his manhood rubbing itself between my thighs. It didn't feel very sizable but I doubted that that knowledge would make much of a difference in my innocent state._

_I knew what would soon be coming, I had heard stories of women abducted in the night, and found the next morning, in the street, or on a busy corner; beaten, and raped, with their throats severed, and abdomen sliced right open, entrails and organs ripped out and thrown around for the world to see. My father would not have come here if it weren't for those women. He shouldn't have anyways, but as a detective he had taken it upon himself to put a stop to whomever it was menacing the London streets at night._

"_Mmm…"he groaned into my ear as he lifted the tattered hem of my dress, having no difficulties, despite the immense struggle that I was putting up, "My sweet, sweet girl. I have been waiting for you."_

_He made quick work of my undergarments before positioned himself at my entrance from behind me, and chuckled as I whimpered, before he continued. "You are so innocent, love. Hmm, you are going to taste so close to heaven, I'll think that I'm there. Ha," he laughed humorlessly, "like that would ever happen."_

"_Mmm, I'm a naughty boy after all, no God would ever _think_ of forgiving my transgressions." He slurred, sucking at the skin behind my ear._

"_What?" I managed to squeak._

_A more boisterous laugh erupted from him this time._

"_You know who I am; you've heard what it is I do. And now, my sweet girl, it's your turn. I; Jack the Ripper, have chosen you." he sang in a raspy, crazed, sing-song-y voice._

_With that said, I felt him pierce through my barrier; but not the one which I had expected him to. Yes, he _had _just stolen my innocence; but it was a much greater pain, one which was centered at the juncture of my throat, that was quickly overwhelming me._

_The pain from both intrusions was quickly becoming too much for me to handle, and as I felt the welcome sense of darkness drawing nearer, I heard him mutter in my ear one last time._

"_You are mine now, sweet child. For all of time, whether in this world or the next, we will be connected for all of eternity. You are mine, and I will always find you. You can run, but I will chase you, and you will lose… I have marked you. You are mine Isabella, forever."_

_Then the darkness swept over me as though it were a wave in the tide, drawing me out from the shores of the living world, and sucking me into the deep, black abbess of the dead. And I let death take me._

The scream that escaped from my throat could very well have shattered glass, and probably did, but I was still so completely immersed within my blurred, horrific memory, that I could not be bothered to witness its effect on my surroundings.

Suddenly I felt a firm hand clasp itself over my mouth like a vice. It was too similar, and all thoughts that I had resurfaced from that nightmare flew from my head. I had to escape this monster.

I began to struggle in earnest now, and I could quickly tell the difference between the effectiveness of my attempts from last time, and this time.

My captor struggled to maintain control of my movements and I could tell he was fighting a losing battle. Who knew my father's lessons in self defense would turn out to be so effective?

"Hey!" I heard, it was a desperate sounding shout from the head of the alleyway, "You there! Unhand that young woman!"

My attention was diverted from my struggle, and had relocated itself on the balding, pudgy, dapperly clad gentleman, approaching the scene we were causing with a mixture of nervousness and hopeful heroism apparent on his face.

"Sir, please, you don't understand," my captor voiced, his silky smooth, rich tones suddenly easily identifiable and I sighed in relief because it was the same voice that had soothed me during my sentence in purgatory. This knowledge caught me off guard completely. This was definitely not the same man from my memory, he was my angel. An angel from _hell_, maybe; but my angel no less. "This situation is complex and dangerous, and above all, none of your concern."

I would be the last to say the situation wasn't complex, but I had yet to fully comprehend the 'dangerous' part.

"Now listen here boy, you let that girl go before I alert the nearest constable."

"Sir please refrain." my hell's angel pleaded, though his tone was calm as a nice summers day. I felt him starting to back up, still holding my body to his, and thus forcing me along with him. Despite my gratitude towards the man that held me, I felt uncomfortable being in such close proximity to him. After what I just remembered, I couldn't stand a man's body so close to mine. So I once again took up my attempts to struggle my way out of his grasp, albeit only lightly, for my mind was too busy wrapping itself around what on earth I had gotten myself into this time, and even more so; _how? _Something within this whole situation was not making any sense. No sense at all.

The man took several more steps towards us, before stopping and wagging his finger as though it would symbolize the gravity of the position which we were in.

"You leave her be, or I won't think twice about helping the constable teach your sorry hide a thing or two, you… you…ragamuffin!"

We continued moving backwards, until I was able to observe a sharp curve in the direction we were traveling. We were turning the corner around the back of the alley, leaving us in a position where we could no longer be seen by passerby's on the street; I could hear by the echoing sounds that our feet made, that there was no exit back this way.

We were trapping ourselves, but we were also causing the man to make a choice. He could either run for the constable, which would give my captor the chance to escape with me; or he could continue with his approach which would, in his mind, continue for the moment to ensure my safety. One of these choices would save his life, the other would prove fatal.

I didn't realize that last fact however, until the man finally decided to follow us around the corner in a vain attempt to guarantee my safety. Little did either of us realize it wasn't _my _safety that was in question.

"Ah, Damnation!" I heard my captor whisper explicitly.

I didn't understand what it was about the situation that he believed could warrant such sinful language. After all, had he really believed that this kind man would be discouraged, simply because we had hidden ourselves around a corner?

And so, I did the natural thing for a lady to do in this situation; which was to gasp in shock at his vulgar use of words!

It was then that I realized what may have been the cause of his explicit outburst, and though I did not fully understand the reasons why yet, one thing did become crystal clear in my mind.

That man had a bottle, or a flask, or something, and it was full of the sweet elixir I craved.

And I _had_ to have it!

My instincts took over again and my struggle against my captor's vice like grip increased exponentially in that moment. I'll admit it wasn't very ladylike but all things considered, I was never too much of a lady to begin with. I could still hear my captors' voice in some small corner of my mind, pleading with the man hiding the elixir to flee the scene.

No! He could not be allowed to leave, I just need to talk to him long enough to convince him to part with his bottle of ambrosia, that was all I needed. Why could I not have it?

I decided I should ask, but my mouth was still stuck behind my captors' hand. Aha! So that's why he wouldn't let go of me. He wants it for himself. Well not if I could help it. I began moving my mouth around, until I had slipped it down and my lips were at the bottom of his hand.

And then, before really thinking it through, I bit it!

An earsplitting crunch resonated through the alley as my captor yelled in pain and tried to extract his limb from my mouth.

Let's just say that didn't work so well.

All of the sudden I felt the weight of his hand resting more fully in my mouth, and so I released my jaw, figuring that he had decided to give up the fight.

No sooner had I opened my mouth when I heard the thud. I looked forward to the man in front of me quizzically, wondering if perhaps he had dropped his satchel or something of the like, but he wasn't looking at me, and his satchel was still on his shoulder.

His eyes were transfixed on my feet, and so I allowed my own to follow his gaze.

Oh my Word!

As my eyes fixed themselves on the amputated hand lying at my feet, my head began to swim. How had this happened? Surely the cold lifeless body part must have been lying there when we arrived here; because I could not wrap my mind around the possibility that I could have actually been the one to rip off my captors' hand. Besides wouldn't there have been blood?

My thought process stopped in its tracks however, as I heard the man a few meters away from us, retching whatever it was that his wife had rustled up to break his fast that morning. To add to the gore, I had a hunch that he may have been ill to some extent, because his meal had been accompanied by an alarming amount of bile and blood.

But that wasn't what had stopped me in my tracks. It was the new, pungent wave of the elixirs scent that washed over my senses.

My movements suddenly resumed, this time at a level that could only be described as frenzied, and now it was much easier for me to break free of my captors hold; though whether this was due to my new found motivation or his lack of limb I couldn't really be sure.

I was next to the man much more quickly than either he or I had expected.

"Where is it?" I nearly screamed, the desperate whine that escaped me not my own. "Where are you hiding it? Please, just give it to me!"

"I…I…," the man managed to stutter, staring in my eyes, causing his glands to perspire like a sinner at confessional, and his face to redden with blood.

Another wave of the ecstasy inducing scent hit me, and it caused something inside of me to snap. Fine! If he wouldn't give the elixir to me of his own free will, then I would simply have to take it from him.

In an instant my hands were on his throat, and without trying, one of my nails accidentally cut a small slit near his artery, causing a small amount of blood to trickle out.

My eyes widened and I tried to prepare myself for the queasy feeling that typically accompanied the sight of blood for me.

It didn't come. Instead the burning in my throat multiplied tenfold.

I looked down at the blood, examining its color and consistency, mesmerized, and came to a conclusion that sent my mind reeling.

Blood! This was what the elixir was!

Ugh! How utterly disgusting!

But my disgust was quickly eclipsed and then forgotten, as the realization hit me that I now had a solution to the torturous burning in my throat.

I found myself sucking the blood from my fingers, before returning them to the man's neck without hesitation.

I quickly became frustrated with how long the whole process was taking, as well as the constant annoying squirming and struggling of the man in my grip.

How could I make this all go quicker? Perhaps if I placed my mouth directly over his wound… In the past, men had requested me to do things far more unchaste than that. And didn't my father teach me that 'men were only after one thing?' Besides, a gentleman would never say 'no' to a lady in need, so he wouldn't mind, would he? No, surely not!

My mouth was attached to his neck in under a quarter second, and as I rejoiced in the relief I was receiving from his blood, I could do nothing to stop the instinctual clamping of my jaw. I felt my teeth pierce through the malleable skin of his throat, before the increased flow of blood started pouring into my mouth.

It was so satisfying, and my mind could not help but compare it to the Christmas dinners of my youth, though the actual dishes from these memories now seemed to be entirely unappetizing. I had yet to meet the turkey that could hold a candle to this. Why would I ingest t_hat_, when I could have _this_ lovely toxin instead? Why would anyone?

Wait, when had my mind turned this whole experience into a meal?

As the blood flow into my mouth began to slow considerably I heard a shuffling behind me, and suddenly I was flat against the ground of the alleyway once more. This was getting old.

My limbs attempted to pummel my captor, hoping that one swift hit would incapacitate him enough for me to escape, and satisfy the burning that was already flaring up in my throat again, despite the sluggish feeling of my stomach.

I flailed, but he would not be deterred this time. My gluttonous actions moments before were now my down fall.

I could feel his cool breath against the lobe of my ear.

"Stop it child!" he said desperately, half begging me, half demanding, "Please end this. You have quenched your thirst for now, so please, let this man be."

I could feel the frenzy that had been raging wildly through my system begin to slow.

As it did, my mind began to wrap around what he was saying. _Let this man be._

I then analyzed my actions; and as visions of my transgression began to flicker before my eyes, I stilled, ending my struggle.

I heard a strangled cry; pained, tortured, miserable, and broken beyond imagination and I looked up to see where it came from.

I glanced at the man that lay beside me, to see if perhaps he was the culprit who had made the noise; but as I gazed upon his prone, ashen form, I realized that it had not been him.

The cry had been my own.

He was dead.

I had killed him.

_I had killed him?_

Surely this was all a dream. My eyes closed, but all I could see were images of the kind man who had tried to save me, and myself, draining the life from his body.

My own body began to shake, and I felt the weight of my captor lift off of me. He did this just in time, because as soon as his body was clear of mine, I started convulsing. My throat seized up in a vain attempt to keep the contents of my stomach where they belonged, but alas, I was quickly vomiting up all of the dirt and garbage that I had ingested during my frenzied feeding before.

I looked at the steaming pile that had risen from my stomach, and then pushed myself weakly up to my knees. I wiped my mouth free of any mess using the back of my hand. Finally, I looked up from under my lashes, in to the golden eyes of my captor.

He stared back at me, and I could see my own violently crimson irises reflected in his apprehensive gaze.

I chose my next words carefully.

"What…am…I?"

He kept silent and simply stared at me with a pained look on his face. Who wouldn't, after having their hand bitten off by an out of control bedlamite? But as I studied his features I could find no anger or judgment there.

As if I hadn't just bitten off his hand. As if I had not _killed_ this poor man. My eyes drifted back to the lifeless body lying next to me on the cobbles like a discarded piece of rubbish, an ever-so small trickle of blood streaming from the gash at his throat. The gash _I _had made. It looked horribly appetizing and to my disgust the first feeling it stirred inside me was more of the feral thirst that drove me to take his life in the first place.

A sharp pang of guilt shot through my silent heart and, overcome by the intensity of it combined with all the madness that had just unfolded here, I collapsed to the ground, sobbing. I rolled over onto my side and pulled my knees up to my chest where I held them in place with one hand, and brought the other up to my face to try and wipe away the pharisaic tears that stung my eyes. But try as I might, those tears didn't fall.

Why? I had just killed a man, so why could I not cry?

I surely had no right to feel anything but guilt, but regardless of how much I tried to push it away, I felt both sadness and frustration creeping up on me, forming a great big knot inside my chest cavity as more and more questions accumulated in my mind. Where was my heartbeat? … Had I hurt him? … Why had I acted like a soul possessed moments ago? … Did he have a wife waiting for him somewhere? … Why did my eyes suddenly remind me of horrific tales of demons and ghosts? … Had he been someone's father, too?

My sobbing worsened and my breaths came in erratic gasps. I brought the hand that was wiping away non-existent tears down to join the other hand that was still firmly clamped around my knees, as I buried my head in my chest and started rocking myself soothingly. Slowly, an almost dulcet wailing permeated my ears, no doubt my own.

I lay there for a while, shivering violently and sobbing, being comforted by my own cries until a tender hand caressed my hair, thusly causing me to wince in shame.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Don't," I implored pathetically. "Please don't. I don't deserve your sympathies," and I buried my chin even deeper in my chest.

Some gravel that was caught underneath his shoes sharply scraped the street as he sat himself down beside me, Indian style, and started to gently peel away my arms from my knees with his remaining hand. I tried to will myself to fight him on it, really I did, but no matter how much I hated myself for what I had just done, my desire to be comforted came out victorious.

I allowed him to unfold my limbs and then fold me back into a new position like a ragdoll, until I sat sideways in his lap with my legs dangling over one of his, and my ear pressed against his chest. He wrapped one arm around my waist while he used the other, the arm which still possessed a hand, to soothingly caress my hair. He would plant a feathery kiss on my forehead every now and then. I have no idea why he made me feel safe, but he did. And I certainly had no idea at that point why on earth he felt the need to comfort me.

After we sat like that without talking, the shaking and sobbing slowly subsided, until for a long time we were both still. Motionless. And I mean that quite literally. Neither of us blinked, shifted our weight or even breathed. One more thing that told me that, whatever had happened to me, I wasn't human anymore. Also, judging by the clock tower it was night now, yet I hadn't seen it get dark. At night the world was just… less bright. And no matter how long we sat there in silence, I never felt the slightest urge to sleep and something told me, I never would again.

I saw the sun rising, a rare sight through the London smog. When her first rays hit the skin of our adjoined hands I was mesmerized by the sight. The sunlight caught infinitesimally small particles in our skin, which shimmered and sparkled like countless little stars, reflecting upon the walls around us. It reminded me of one of my father's stories, in which one of his fearless princesses took off on a quest to save a prince from an evil overlord. At a certain point in her adventure she found herself in a cave, surrounded by an innumerable amount of fairies lighting her way in the darkness, who had allowed her one wish.

"I wish my father were here," I whispered under my breath.

If I hadn't said that, I think he would have just held me there forever. We would have been London's most lifelike statue, hidden in a desolate alleyway.

He skimmed my hair with his nose, inhaling deeply and lifted his hand up to run it through his own blond locks, before placing it back over mine.

"What was he like?" he asked gingerly.

My mind was grateful for the invitation to plough around in those particular memories, although remembering things clearly proved to be very difficult. So I started blurting out random facts about my father as soon as they popped into my head. "Well he didn't talk much to most people, but he told me beautiful stories. He made me tea in the morning. He wasn't much of a cook but he loved my cooking. He never cried in front of me except at my mother's funeral, years and years ago. And he hated porridge."

I had been absently fumbling with the torn, bloodstained hem of my dress, but when I looked at it, it brought back flashes of some of the horrible memories I had gained over the past several days. Desperate for something to distract me I let go of the frayed fabric to take the hand of the man holding me to him instead. I decided to divert my attention back to the fairies dancing around us and the hazy memories of my father.

"Sometimes, when he thought he was alone, he'd walk around the woods near our house with his arms spread out, as if he was flying." I mimicked the movement a little with one hand. "One day I came home asking him if I was allowed to take a stroll through the park with Michael, because my friend Jessica had done so and kept teasing me, saying that I was too prissy to do the same. He just asked me: '_Isabella Swan_, _if your friend jumped off a cliff, would you?_'" I smiled at the memory when I relayed it, using a deep voice and furrowing my eyebrows in a half attempt to impersonate my father.

"Sounds like a good man, your father." he replied in that magical voice of his. I wondered how my name would sound, spoken in that voice. "I suppose. I mean I never actually had porridge but it looks absolutely foul."

We both chuckled at that and the sound was very peculiar. It was a potpourri of emotions in which sadness met joy, fear met comfort, pity met admiration and apprehension met relief.

"I'm scared," I whispered after a few moments.

"I know," he said in a low voice. "I'm so sorry."

I looked back at our intertwined fingers, both our skins still fervently glistening in the sunlight. I didn't understand what he could possibly be apologizing to me for, but by now I understood very well that he held every answer to the questions I had. I decided to start with the basics once more.

"What are we?" I whispered softly. So soft in fact, that I was mouthing the words rather than whispering them. I believe a part of me hoped he wouldn't hear. Of course he did, I was quite sure by now that his hearing was as sharp as mine if not sharper, or at least better trained. Therefore he would most likely be able to hear everything short of my thoughts.

He took a deep breath and cleared his throat as if he was going to say something, but then he decided against it. Instead, he kept silent for a while before he took his hand from mine and reached inside his coat pocket. I heard the high scraping sounds of tiny bits of metal brushing against one another when he removed the content from his coat and held it in front of me.

It was a golden locket, dangling from what seemed like a brand new necklace. The gems imbedded next to the tiny swallow on the front caught the light that bounced of our skin beautifully, making it look quite marvelous. A little voice told me I had seen it before somewhere, but I couldn't remember when.

"Open it," he prompted as he let it slide into my cupped hands.

I did, and I was met with two smiling faces. It took me a second or two to recognize them as my parents, whose portraits each adorned one side of the locket's interior and I smiled. I remembered now.

I had drawn the one of my mother from memory years ago, afraid I would one day forget her face. It was rather good if I say so myself, especially given the fact that she had died years before. My father's picture was better though, which was understandable since it was much more recent. After he had left for London, I had drawn a picture of him similar to the one I had of my mother, so I could carry an image of both my parents with me inside the locket he gave me. _This_ locket.

I let my fingertip travel the contours of their faces with great precision, careful not to smudge the dark graphite that made up the images.

"What happened to that man last night; that was my fault. Not yours. I should have prevented it. You couldn't…, ugh. I was a fool to think…" He swallowed whatever ending he had meant to give that sentence, if any, and took a moment.

"_This," _he stressed, pointing to the portraits I held in my hands, "is who you are Miss Swan. You are everything those two people called you, before kissing you goodnight." He twirled a lock of my hair in between his fingers. "_Everything._"

I believed he meant it, but I didn't believe it was true. I really wanted to know the whole truth now. _'Everything.'_ However, his mention of the man who died by my hands sent a chill down my spine, and I wanted to get away from this place before continuing this conversation.

I got up from his lap, readjusted my dress, for whatever good it would do, and combed through my hair with my fingers. I had expected to find dozens of persistent tangles and knots, yet found none. My hair felt as smooth as silk. Well, I guess there's a first time for anything. I closed the locket and hooked the chain around my neck.

"I hope you'll forgive me," he apologized yet again, standing up himself and motioning his head towards the trinket. "I didn't mean to pry, but it flew open when it hit the floor, and their resemblance to you was so striking. I just figured… Anyway," he shook his head, "you ripped it off your neck two days ago during your transformation."

Transformation?

I have to say I was intrigued. Should I let him explain now, or get out of here first? Stupidly, I turned around towards the alleyway and the first thing I saw there was the corpse of the man that had fallen victim to my thirst for blood. He had been behind us the entire time, of course, but I was startled by it nonetheless. However, where I had expected to panic at the sight of him, like I had last night; I was instead taken aback by how little it affected me.

The corpse, lying there, staring at me with its dead, empty eyes hardly disturbed me at all. No more than it would have disturbed me in former times to come across a dead animal. To me it just looked, well, very dead. I did feel sorry for killing him on some level, but to be honest the burning in my throat was bothering me more. It was as if the human part inside of me was quickly losing ground to whatever instinct it was that was taking over my body.

I vaguely remembered the cat I had when I was younger. At one point she had given birth to four kittens, one of which had died at birth. Someone had once told me that cats would eat their young in case they died. Fortunately it hadn't come to that, but little Missy hadn't seemed the least bit disturbed by it either. She had simply shoved the dead kitten aside and ignored it while she took care of the three live ones.

I felt like her. Animalistic.

Detached.

Two strong arms wrapped around my waist, followed by a kiss in my hair, and immediately I felt a little bit more human again. Immediately I recognized a little bit of myself in the man that would still be alive if it hadn't been for me, and I felt something other than physical need. Compassion. I felt a little compassion for the man I killed. And I felt guilty. It was a horrible thing to feel, but at the same time it was wonderful to be feeling anything that _human_.

"It won't always be like this," I felt him whisper against my ear, and the feel of his breath did strange things to my knees. "Your instincts are very strong right now, it is always this way for newborns. Don't let it win. Come with me, and I'll show you that there's another way. There is a choice. We don't _have _to be monsters."

I believed him. I wanted to follow him anywhere if it meant I could be like him; because I felt his compassion, his warmth, his hope, his love…

His humanity.

It clung to him like a shadow. A shadow which seemed to extend to me as well, whenever he touched me.

"Will you come with me?" he asked once more. This time a hint of desperation colored his voice.

I turned around in his embrace until I was facing him.

"Why are you doing all this for me?" I asked, looking up at him through my eyelashes.

He stared back; those beautiful golden orbs holding nothing but admiration for me, and I felt myself start to drown in their warmth. Then he smiled at me, and the drowning was complete. I figured, since _he _was whatever it was that _I _was, he could not really be an angel after all. With the bloodlust and what not, I don't remember hearing about Gabriël having these particular urges. But for someone who wasn't an angel, he certainly looked the part. With the back of his hand he brushed a strand of hair away from my face and then used his thumb to softly brush up and down my cheek a few times. Suddenly, he let his head fall to his chest and chuckled to himself. When he looked back up at me, an amused expression lit up his features.

"Let's just say you're very…_disarming_," he said finally, turning away from me to retrieve his detached limb from the ground.

"Oh bloody hell!" I gasped soundlessly.

My hands flew to my mouth in shock. I had been so consumed by my own misery that I had completely forgotten what I had done to him. I couldn't help but cringe when I remembered that he had been the one comforting _me_…

"I- I'm so s-sorry," I stammered, shaking a little.

He turned around to face me and, hand in hand, he walked over to where I was standing. He put his severed hand away somewhere under his coat and then, with a serious expression on his face he placed his index finger against my lips and I instantly relaxed. It was unbelievable, the calming effect this man's touch had on me. He noticed this too apparently, and smiled that brilliant smile at me again.

"It wouldn't be the first time someone has bitten my hand off, Miss. Swan," he informed me. "You're merely the first one to have done it by accident."

That probably should have upset me even more, but instead, it calmed me. If someone had bitten his hand off before, then that meant it could be, uhm…reattached.

However that worked.

"I'll just check the streets for people to see if we can safely venture towards the outskirts of the city." He explained.

Safely…The word made me cringe. I knew now that he wasn't referring to _our_ safety.

"Oh, um…, " I hesitated.

He halted, swallowed, turned around and gave me a weary look.

"Yes, miss Swan?" He replied courtly.

"Please," I started, and I looked down at my fumbling hands before I continued. I found those golden eyes a little too distracting for proper sentence-forming. "…won't you call me Isabella?"

He relaxed visibly at my question, and released the breath he'd been holding, as if he had expected me to ask him for something else entirely. His first born perhaps, or his detached hand in marriage.

"I would be delighted to, Isabella," he said earnestly, and like with everything else, my name sounded immeasurably better when spoken from his lips, "...but only if from now on, you promise to address me as Carlisle."

...

* * *

-:-

When Isabella learned exactly what she had become, she was more than willing to let Carlisle guide her. They made it out of the London suburbs without further incident, and from there they traveled to a remote forest, far far away from civilization. There, true to his word, Carlisle showed her his ways.

...

Allow me to quote Charles Swan, quoting Friedrich Nietzsche when I say:

"_Ah, women. They make the highs higher and the lows more frequent._"

A thought very similar to this one is very likely to have crossed Carlisle's mind once or twice in the following months, but the truth is that he really had no choice in the matter. From now on, he existed solely to experience those highs, regardless of the lows.

To her, he was a mentor, a companion, a dear friend.

To him, she was _everything_.

-:-

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That Bella ... Quite the killer. Who would have guessed?  
On second thought, I'm pretty sure Carlisle noticed the killer body before. Such a pun guy that Carlisle, very disarming. ****Next chapter we'll skip ahead in time a bit. For now, d********ear readers, please tell us how we did. Reviewing is free, it's safe and you'll burn some calories typing ;D**


	4. BizzAro

**_A/N _**_Ciao bellas! You rock and you know it. I wish you all an Edward, Carlisle, Jasper, Emmett, Jake, Bella or Harry Clearwater –whatever bites your neck- of your very own. My beta random-lemon, I wish her an additional golden ticket, two housebroken puppies, and a creepy stalker made out of chocolate and whipped cream._

_This chapter and the next are vital to the story, (I can't tell you why of course,) so please stick with the story because after this, in chapter 6, we'll skip ahead three decades or so and guess who'll be there... For now I hope you'll enjoy these two chapters. If you have ANY tips on how to improve them then please let me know. I'm pretty docile_ ;D

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-:-

What scares you most?

Spiders? Darkness? Death?

There could very well be as many phobias out there as there are people.

For Isabella, it's _puppets_.

She never liked puppetry, and Punch and Judy in particular held a special place nowhere near her heart. She found the puppets creepy, with their big, beady eyes and the overdone fake expressions on their papier-mâché faces. As if that wasn't bad enough, to her the jokes, although _laughable_, were never funny.

When they were little, Jessica Stanley always used to drag her along whenever there was a puppet show in town, completely ecstatic and impatient to see Judy, whacking Punch's head in with a rolling pin. Isabella could see why _Jessica _liked it -it's always a joy to recognize one's self, even if it is in a domestically violent puppet- but Isabella was always glad to see the puppeteer leave. It couldn't come too soon.

Now imagine someone afraid of the dark, being locked away in a room void of light. Someone afraid of spiders, entangled in a huge spider web…

Well, good thing that there isn't a real life mister Punch out there.

…

_Is there?_

…Curious? Well, I suppose what happened next was indeed rather curious. Wasn't it Isabella?

-:-

* * *

"One more thing, Carlisle," Aro's unpleasant, calculating voice called after us as we made our way towards the door.

The sound made me want to let out a sigh of annoyance, because it meant we had to stay even longer now. I hadn't wanted to come here in the first place, but Carlisle had insisted it was 'a necessary evil'. In hindsight of course, coming here, and meeting with these 'people' in person, now caused me to question whether or not the pun was intended. Because _evil_ seemed like an understatement.

I suppressed the sigh that wanted so desperately to be sighed, but clenched my jaw to make up for it. After all, these Volturi characters' didn't strike me as the type that would take _being sighed at_ very amicably. '_Do it for Carlisle, Bella. You don't have to like them, but Carlisle views them as his friends.'_

How on earth that friendship ever came about was beyond me.

Carlisle was nothing like these shady individuals. They were the embodiment of the term 'soulless monsters'. With me being the sole exception, Carlisle tended to describe _all_ vampires, including himself using this term. I made sure to make him cast aside those ridiculous beliefs rather quickly. Not that I didn't agree with him on some level though. Honestly, anyone would after hearing him sing. With all due respect, the man had the voice of an angel but the _soul _of a bedpan. I made him swear never to sing anything within a five mile radius from me.

So, _soulless_? Yes, in a way. But he was by no means a monster.

In the past year or so I had gotten to know Carlisle quite well. He had gone out of his way to show me how one goes about _not_ being a monster. I don't think there was anything that would have made him give up on me. On a side note, had I one day decided that I'd had enough of trying to suppress this monster stirring within; he would have accepted that _,_too. If what I _really _wanted had turned out to be to slaughter the whole town, he would have let me. He might have joined me.

Fortunately for the both of us, I had different plans. At the risk of sounding conceited I will say that I had been a good student and a fast learner. Because I had the two ingredients that were needed most in order for me to succeed;

One was determination, symbolized by my parents' locket. I could and _would_ do this for them, in order to make them proud of their daughter, wherever they were. To live up to the image they'd always had of me, albeit slightly more pale now.

The other, was Carlisle. He had made sure to teach me each and every way he knew how, to reconnect with my humanity. He took me hunting for animals instead of humans, taught me tricks to outsmart my obstinate vampire instincts, showed me how to dig deep to uncover the emotions underlying those instincts, and trained my ability to hear the whisper of my inner human voice over the boisterous, ongoing bellows of the 'monster'. All the while, he himself served as the perfect role model.

Out of the locket -my motivation, and Carlisle -my strength, I was able to spin a lifeline, if you will; a lifeline tying me to my humanity. A lifeline I used to reign myself in until slowly but surely my human side grew stronger, as my vampiric nature became ever more dormant. Finally, after months of extensive training and challenges to overcome, my eyes carried the same warm golden hues as Carlisle's.

Eleven months after my change, Carlisle had gone away on 'business', to London. Four days later, when I had just gotten ready to go out hunting by myself for the first time, venom flowed into my mouth as soon as I stepped out the door. I would love to meet the deer, badger, wild boar or rodent to have such an effect on my venom glands, so I knew immediately that it wasn't game I smelled. Not even the occasional reindeer or -even more exquisite- harbour porpoise, could hold a candle to this.

The aroma was very faint, but still as tempting as the first time. It was the first time in almost a year that I had smelled a human and it caught me off guard. I had just come to terms with killing that man on the streets of London that first dreaded day. I would always regret it, but the guilt I had felt for months had slowly subsided. It wasn't an _accident _per se, but in hindsight I couldn't describe it as murder, either. It had been a tragedy, nothing more nothing less. But feeling that same burn in my throat again, I was torn between running back in to hide myself from the source of the scent, or rather hide the source from _me_; and hunting down the heavenly smell that was so cruelly bombarding my senses.

Caught between my instincts and my conscience, I couldn't move. In my head I was praying for the human to go back to wherever it had come from, while at the same time hoping for it to make its way towards me. I prayed these days, on occasion, although I wasn't sure if it was to ask for guidance or just to mess with him a little in case he _did_exist; to make the Almighty rethink his decision to ban me from heaven by definition. I didn't see the harm in that, since everyone seemed pretty convinced that I would never make it to heaven anyway, no matter what I did. Things could only _go up _as far as I was concerned.

I inwardly cursed and rejoiced as I heard footsteps coming toward me. There were two pair of them, as far as I could tell. Men, I thought, judging by their weight and the way they placed their feet. I was smart enough not to breathe, but if I actually saw those two hors d'oeuvres walking by me, I honestly wasn't sure what I'd do.

They kept coming nearer and a confrontation seemed almost inevitable by then, until I realized that something was missing from this seemingly hopeless picture; _Heartbeats_.

I listened closely, more focused, and this time I could not only distinguish the number of men coming this way, but could as well clearly recognize the owner of one pair of the approaching footsteps.

_Carlisle!_

I jumped up and as fast as my feet could carry me I flew towards the sound. If Carlisle _had_been human, the impact of me flying into him, hugging him around the neck, would have surely killed him, either by pulverization or a Bella-shaped hole that went straight through his chest. But of course he wasn't human, so he didn't even recoil an inch.

"Well, I could sure get used to being greeted like that, beautiful," he smiled brightly as he returned my hug.

"I'm sorry!" I panted, " I, I just I thought I smelled a hu- human and I was so scared because I would have killed it I'm sure I would have and I didn't want to let you down so I wanted to go back inside but I froze and I was praying and for a moment there I even thought of them as hors d'oeuvres, _hors d'oeuvres _Carlisle, but then I listened better and didn't hear any heartbeats and I was confused because I thought _surely _I could hear a human _heartbeat_ right and then I was so happy when I recognized your feet so I just, I ran but you have to help me control myself because I'm sure that _I really did smell a human_!"

Carlisle chuckled. He lifted me up so I was level with him, my feet dangling inches above the earth, and rubbed circles on the small of my back to calm me down with his free hand in an attempt to relax me.

"Take a breath sweetheart," he reminded me. "There aren't any humans here." He put me down on the ground so he could look me in the eyes. His were slightly darker than usual. One hand, as usual, went straight to my hair to tug a wayward strand behind my ear, as the other lifted my chin. "Mister Denali and I, just came from London, remember?" he asked while pointing out the man that he'd brought with him.

Next to Carlisle, covering the lower half of his face with one hand, to hide a grin no doubt, was another vampire who seemed rather amused by witnessing my mild panic attack just now. He was very handsome, standing slightly taller than Carlisle with a hint of an olive tone in his chalky complexion, a full head of thick black hair and a twinkle in his eyes, which held the same golden hues ours did. He removed the hand from his face to reveal a distinct dimple in his left cheek.

"Lot's of humans in London these days," he wrinkled his nose to make his best 'don't-they-just-smell-horrid?' face, "impossible to get the stink out of your clothes," he jested in an indistinct accent. I categorized the accent as a residue of his Spanish roots Carlisle told me about.

"_Eleazar_ Denali?" I asked and he nodded. "Pleased to finally meet you," I said feeling rather silly. Of course they would carry some human smell with them after having been around people for days. "Carlisle has told me so much about you already." I bit my lip and did my best not to stare at the floor as I offered him my hand.

"So, this is the lovely Isabella," Eleazar stated as he took my outstretched hand. "I see now that Carlisle was not just bragging when he described you to me," he complimented.

Instead of shaking my hand, he lifted our entwined hands up high and had me do a pirouette underneath them, while he took a small step back to take in my appearance. When I had come full circle, he gave me a gentlemanly bow before he placed a kiss on the hand he still held. "I suspected you to be exaggerating when you told me about her, but now I see you haven't said a word too much Carlisle. She's beautiful."

Oh yes, quite the charmer, this one.

Carlisle beamed with pride and I was about to protest all the awkward, unwelcome flattery when suddenly, as if he realized something he wasn't expecting, Eleazar froze for a moment. He took a step back and studied me intently and kept doing so for the next couple of seconds. He seemed to be contemplating hard on something.

"Increíble…," he muttered to himself. His face was serious and his voice laced with suggestion when he eventually looked from me to Carlisle.

"She is very _talented_, too," he claimed.

Slowly, as some sort of realization set in, Carlisle's eyes widened and his eyebrows rose up in surprise, while his mouth formed a soundless 'o'. He kept staring at Eleazar like that for a while, and then at me, dumbfounded. Carlisle always seemed to know the right thing to say, even if that turned out to be nothing at all so usually his silences were very deliberate. Therefore it was rather surprising to see the collected Carlisle Cullen at a loss for words.

He studied me as if he'd never really looked at me before; as if he was presented with a whole new set of eyes that could clearly distinguish shapes, colors and details the old pair wouldn't have even picked up on, and was now capable of seeing a side of me that had thus far remained hidden. Carlisle's eyes got impossibly bigger as seconds passed. His mind seemed to work overtime trying to wrap itself around the information it had just been presented with.

I hated being the center of attention like this almost as much as I loathed being kept out of the loop, so after a couple more minutes of the two men shamelessly ogling me I threw my palms up in embarrassed confusion.

"What is it?" I bit at them.

Carlisle absentmindedly placed a hand on Eleazar's shoulder. "Are you sure?" he asked him, completely disregarding me and my question, lost in his own reverie.

"What's this?" Eleazar laughed, feigning offense. "Are you questioning my knack all of a sudden?"

"I just, I never… I never expected… Well don't leave me hanging! Tell me!" Carlisle urged.

_There was a word for this. What was it again? … Ah yes; _Ridiculous.

"Leave _you_ hanging? Hello?" I waved my hand in between their faces in order to get their attention. "What's wrong with me?"

"I can assure you there's absolutely nothing wrong," Eleazar emphasized the word, "with you my dear."

And that's how I learned about vampire 'talents'. They weren't common, but apparently a small percentage of us developed 'gifts' in a sense, during our transformations. Eleazar for instance, had the 'gift' to detect and classify these 'gifts' in other. He had been a member of the Volturi guard alongside Carlisle for decades, doing just that.

Most common, though still rare are the so-called 'trackers', whose senses outshine those of other vampires the way our senses outshine a human's. Then there are those who possess incredible strength, the ability to control the elements, detect lies, immobilize others, and the list went on and on.

Nobody laughed when I asked if there was someone out there with the power to kill a person, just by looking at them. Apparently there had been one of those, too. Yet another idiomatic expression, given a whole new meaning by our kind. _'If looks could kill'_ was now right up there with _'over my dead body'_, _'as cold as ice' _and _'armed to the teeth'_.

And then there was my 'talent'. As a human, my biggest talent had been finding inanimate objects to trip over no matter where I was. In this life, it was _a shield_.

According to Eleazar, I had a mental shield that protected me from the powers of other vampires. He wasn't sure on the details, but he was convinced that if I trained it, I would be able to develop this shield into a very powerful defense against other vampires. It was useless physically, but he had a feeling it would be very useful against 'mental attacks'. I did my best not to laugh out loud when he said this, failing to see at that point how serious one of those mental attacks could get, exactely.

Eleazar had to return to his wife who, he himself kept calling his 'mate', but I still needed to get used to that term. To me it sounded as loving as referring to your children as 'offspring'. Still, apart from the argot, his eyes lit up when he spoke of her in a way that left no question as to his love and dedication to her. When he left for Canada the next day, Carlisle and me left for Italy to meet with his friends, the _Volturi_.

The Volturi were the most powerful vampire family, or _'coven' _on earth_._They resided in Volterra; a small village in Italy, near the town of Pisa. They were the vampire equivalent of royalty, living in a castle, creating and upholding strict laws and mercilessly serving as judge and jury to any vampire that dared to break one. Whether Carlisle worked for them or was actually one of them, I didn't really know and asking him felt silly. But from the way he spoke, I could tell he felt a sense of duty, care and loyalty towards them, but those sensations seemed to cover a good dose of distrust, fear and disapproval underneath.

We had to go see them because Carlisle was expected to report back to them on his time in London. His visit there had been on behalf of the Volturi after all, he had been sent to England so he could put a stop to the vampire that called himself Jack the ripper -the monster that had attacked me- almost a year ago. Obviously, things hadn't gone as planned, but he was still expected to present them with an account of what _had_happened.

I objected at first, certain that I was going to empty the veins of every human we would encounter along the way -which would be a respectable amount given the mileage between our little cabin in the British highlands, and _Italy-_ but Carlisle assured me that I was ready. It took a lot of convincing but eventually I surrendered, as long as he promised to protect me and the human population from myself.

We crossed the North-Sea by swimming -because there was no way I could manage a boat ride without eating my fellow occupants. In the water I indulged on dolphins -a rare treat- but the mainland was torture. Carlisle made sure we avoided densely populated areas, I fed on just about every rodent I came across and the only breaths I took for days were so I could speak to Carlisle, to tell him what a foolish idea it had been for me to come with him, that I'd rather spend my days as a recluse and that he had no idea how hard this was. Of course he did, but he never argued with me.

Finally, we reached Volterra. The castle -the 650-year-old P_alazzo dei Priori- _was impressive from the outside, but on the inside it was dark, moldy and decayed.

But the worst thing about it by far was the smell;

Blood.

The good kind.

_Everywhere._

Over the years, the divine aroma must have claimed every dark nook and saturated each forgotten crevice of this place until it became like a presence in the room, gripping me and making it difficult to direct my attention at anything else. Being indoors didn't help, I felt trapped, being confined by those moldy old walls that had long since lost their glory. The effect on my throat was overwhelming and I all but pulverized Carlisle's hand while we made our way down to the 'throne room' to meet Aro, Caius and Marcus. The 'leaders', Carlisle had informed me, and it was clear that he had been very accurate in his descriptions of the trio.

Surrounded by guards they were seated on actual thrones, looking mighty pretentious. Marcus was on the left, not acknowledging us, staring straight through me. His gaze was eerily similar to that of the man I killed in London; Dead and empty. On the right was the blond Caius, eying me suspiciously and with an unfair amount of disdain. In the middle, with an insane grin as if he was the Cheshire cat himself, was Aro.

The hairs in my neck stood up when I saw him. There was something... _odd, _about the man. For whatever reason his eyes made me feel uncomfortable and his smile made me feel sick.

"Carlisle! My friend. Back from London I see. I was beginning to think something had happened to you. But since you're back, I take it you trip was a success?" He rambled as he got up from his seat and pressed Carlisle into a tight embrace.

"Well, actually…" Carlisle started, but Aro, who seemed to have the attention span of a mouse in a cheese shop, interrupted him.

"And who might this lovely creature be?" he asked, reaching for my hand.

"Don't even think about it Aro," Carlisle immediately warned, although I didn't understand what set him off.

Aro did, though. He pulled his hand back, slightly brushing mine in the process.

"You know as well as I do that in _your_ case, a hand kiss is no way to greet a lady, Aro," Carlisle added sternly.

Aro studied my face, obviously very intrigued by something, but he agreed.

"Quite right you are. Where are my manners?" He apologized, still distracted by whatever it was about me that interested him and he gave me a courtly bow before turning around and sitting back down.

Caius asked Carlisle about what had happened in London; How Jack the Ripper had escaped him, how he had found me and so on, and Carlisle began relaying the events of the past year to Caius. He didn't mention my gift, though, or the visit from Eleazar. When Carlisle invited me into the conversation, Caius' animosity towards me seemed to gradually lessen.

From the corner of my eye I saw Aro beckon one of the guards -a 'young' girl- over to him and whisper something in her ear. I was trying very hard to focus on what he said to her, instead of on the smell dominating the room, but he spoke so low that it was only audible to the girl's ears, especially with Caius and Carlisle talking to each other right next to me.

The room suddenly stilled when below us, from one of the underground chambers, I could hear the bloodcurdling screams of a young woman. She was my age I estimated, and scared to death. I listened in horror and tried to figure out whether I was horrified because she was so distraught, or if it was because I couldn't have her. It had taken every ounce of my self-control to get to Italy without any casualties, but hearing someone beg for her life, even in Italian…

…it was mouthwatering.

Around me, everyone seemed somewhat effected by the sound. Swallowing venom and collecting themselves. Even Carlisle.

You know how they say that you shouldn't run from a bear, because that's a surefire way for it come after you? Begging for your life in front of a vampire, as it turned out, presents you with a very similar outcome. The more she protested and cried, the more my throat started to burn and I clamped my jaw shut when I heard a sickening, beautiful snap, and then nothing.

Aro chuckled.

"Oh, that reminds me! … Would anyone care for a drink?" he asked with a nauseating smile.

I was too confused about my own conflicting emotions to take offense, but I heard a disapproving groan next to me.

"Was that really necessary?" Carlisle accused rather than asked him reproachfully, with disconcerted eyes, eyebrows raised as far as they would go.

"I apologize. My mistake, I didn't realize you were keeping the girl on such a short leash."

"He does nothing of the sort," I defended Carlisle. Or perhaps I was defending myself from being labeled biddable and obedient. "I am perfectly free to do as I please."

"Of course you are," Aro and his insane grin disparaged my claim.

"So... my child, tell me, have you met our mutual friend Eleazar Denali yet?" he went on to ask me with wide, expectant eyes.

Why would he ask me about Eleazar? Unless… Was he fishing?

"Yes, as a matter of fact I have met him. Nice man, charming. He came to visit us in England some weeks ago," I answered sheepishly.

"Hmm yes, Eleazar… He has a very _nifty_ talent," he suggested. "Did you know?"

Oh he was fishing alright. Carlisle had warned me about Aro's obsession with anything that could potentially make the Volturi more powerful than they already were. He wanted to know whether I had any 'nifty talents' of my own.

Too bad for him, I wasn't the kind of fish you catch with a rod, some patience, and a shiny new lure. I was more the jumps- up-in-your-boat-while-you're-taking-a-nap kind of fish. He could fish as much as he wanted; I wouldn't bite.

"Does he?" I asked innocently.

At least I _thought_ I asked it innocently, but from the corner of my eye I could see Carlisle look up to the ceiling as his face contorted into a grimace that seemed to ask, "_Why God why, have you so cruelly bestowed upon this simple lass, such impossibly meager acting talents?"_

Of course, I may have misinterpreted the details, but that was about what it came down to.

Still, even if Aro saw through my obvious lies with no trouble at all, what was he going to do about it? He might be able to clearly see me avoid the lure I pretended not to notice, but as long as I stayed in the water, he wouldn't be able to catch me.

Or so I thought.

"I have a confession to make," Aro smiled, glancing sideways at the two childlike vampires standing next to him. Their hard, cold, crimson eyes were in shrill contrast to their angelic faces, as flawless and lifeless as porcelain dolls. "I've asked both Alec and Jane here to try out their gifts on you."

To my left, Carlisle growled.

"Out of the question!" He stepped in. I could hear he was struggling to keep his composure, to mask his obvious anger. "You will leave her be, or you will have me to answer to."

Aro cackled. "Carlisle my friend, you never disappoint do you? Always so honorable." He said it as though he was complimenting a child on being 'such a big boy'. "I'm afraid the heroics are way overdue, though," he added with a wink at me.

Watching him, with his excessive mimicry, inordinate levels of intonation in that almost childlike voice, combined with the fact that all he ever seemed to move below the neck were his hands and forearms, I suddenly remembered who Aro's mannerisms reminded me of;

_Mister_ _Punch._

Carlisle narrowed his eyes and involuntarily he shook his head.

"Enough riddles Aro! How do you mean, 'overdue'?" he spat. "You touch her and I swear I'll-…"

"Haven't you been paying attention to poor Jane's face?" Aro cut him off. The girl next to him reacted caught, wincing at the mention of her name. She threw me a look so cold that I would have sworn I could feel the temperature drop. "She has been trying to get a reaction out of Miss Swan the entire time we've been talking… to no avail." The sound that erupted from him next could hardly be described a laugh. If insanity had its own sound, it would be Aro's laughter. He tilted his head and rested his own face in both knuckles, positively radiating amazement and excitement. "I knew there was something odd when you wouldn't let me touch her. And when my hand grazed hers..._nothing_. Not even a glance or a stray memory. Nothing! The girl is immune!" he placed his hands on Carlisle's shoulders. "...To all of us," he squeaked. "She confounds us all!"

"Isabella, we're leaving," Carlisle prompted as he tore himself away from Aro and took my hand. His mouth was pressed into a hard line and even though I knew that it wasn't possible for him to actually explode -that would be weird, even for a vampire- I didn't want to take any chances. Besides, I couldn't wait to get out of here; I needed no convincing to get far away from this place.

"One more thing, Carlisle," Aro's unpleasant, calculating voice called after us as we made our way towards the door.

This couldn't be good.

...

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...If only Isabella had brought her rolling pin.

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**Thanks for reading! Please review and by all means, be critical. I want to learn and improve and I need your reviews to do it.**


	5. La Bella e la Bestia

_**A/N: **Again, thanks for reading and thanks to random_lemon for betaing this story 'o mine. I don't know what's up with this site, it's been acting up all week. I'll just keep my fingers crossed and hope you'll be able to read this anyway..._

_Oh and, there is some Italian in this chapter but don't you worry, Bella and myself don't know what it means, either. Plus, the translation is in the A/N at the end so you'll be alright ;)_

_Enjoy!_

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Carlisle Cullen.

Roughly two centuries had passed since he was brought into this life.

Two centuries of adjusting, of practicing self-control, of loneliness.

_Two centuries._

That's a long time to be alone. After all, he was not _just _a vampire. He was a_ man_, too.

It would be naïve to think that in all those years, there hadn't been women in his life. Because there had been some…'_arrangements'_ made over the years, albeit sporadically. Each woman involved had been beautiful, intelligent, and all were kind; but none of these women deluded themselves into believing it would be anything more than two lonely vampires, providing each other with company.

So in all fairness, where women were concerned, Carlisle knew the ropes. They had made him feel, see, and do things that are not mine to tell. But no woman had ever driven him absolutely mad…

…before Isabella.

Ah…

_L'amour_…

…

…Curious? Well, why listen to me, when she can tell you herself?

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…

"Carlisle," Aro called again.

We both turned around to look at him. Aro may have called Carlisle's name but his gaze was intently fixed on me. As soon as our eyes met, his crimson ones bore deep into my own and the way they seemed to see straight through me sent a very unpleasant sensation through my body, like a heavy chain being tightened around my chest, rendering me breathless and anchored to the ground, unable to break the stare.

I gasped when I felt Carlisle take my hand in his. He reassuringly stroked the back of it with his thumb and took a step forward, placing himself between me and Aro in a protective stance.

"Yes, Aro?" he asked, narrowing his eyes ever so subtly. He expected Aro to play dirty, I could tell. They had known each other for over a century, after all.

"I'm glad you have found Isabella. She seems to lift your spirit. However, there is something you should know," Aro baited, obviously fishing again. Not for information this time but for a reaction.

"Aro!" someone warned, "Smettila! Non c'è … bisogno … dei tuoi giochi … sciocchi!"

I looked around the room to see who this unfamiliar voice belonged to, and was surprised to learn it was Marcus. Apart from the occasional irritated sigh and disapproving groan escaping him he had been silent for as long as we had been here. His voice was choppy and he took long pauses between some words, as if his mind went blank every two seconds or so and he had to backtrack in order to remember what it was he wanted to say. All eyes in the room were on him now, studying him incredulously with their eyebrows raised in mild shock, from which I concluded that speaking in general was rather uncharacteristic behavior for the apathetic vampire.

Marcus looked at Aro, slightly agitated, shooting him what appeared to be a warning glare. Aro didn't acknowledge him though, as he kept his eyes expectantly on the man standing in front of me.

"It's alright Marcus," Carlisle lifted a dismissive hand. "If Aro has something he wishes to tell me, he is more than welcome to. So speak, dear friend" Carlisle demanded. His tone was polite and calm as usual, but undeniably resolute as well.

Looking over my friend's shoulder, I could just see Aro slightly leaning himself forward in his seat, staring at Carlisle the same way he had stared at me seconds ago, and somewhat tilting his head to one side like most birds would, as he opened his mouth to answer.

"Ammetto che la tua infatuazione per la ragazza è accattivante," _–oh wonderful, more Italian,-_ "Ma mi dispiace di dover dire che è appena contraccambiata."

I hadn't the faintest idea what those words meant but Carlisle obviously understood, and whatever he had just been told, it upset him. I felt his hand tense over mine and watched as his jaw did the same.

"Il nostro amico Marcus ha _occhio_ per queste cose," Aro continued as he motioned a translucent hand in Marcus' direction, who in turn kept staring daggers at him without acknowledging the gesture.

The tone of Aro's voice was apologetic, and genuinely so. However, his expression was one of amusement. As if there were two parts to him, fighting for dominance. A kind part, that considered Carlisle a friend, accompanied by another, more sinister, _sadistic_ part that enjoyed watching him suffer. Like a pyromaniac describing to a friend how his house just burned down.

"Nothing is set in stone, my friend," Marcus assured Carlisle apologetically, "things can always change."

"Not these things,_"_Aro scoffed. The sincere warmth radiating from the broad smile he gave Carlisle went hand in hand with an equal amount of malicious pleasure.

_What things?_All I knew was that Aro sounded obnoxious and condescending, which matched the look on his face perfectly and I wanted to go over there and tear the smug grin right off of his face. My nails already dug deep into my palms in an effort to restrain myself when I heard a low growl escape the man in front of me.

"We'll see." Carlisle said with feigned calm, in a vain attempt to hide the hurt, or maybe even defeat coloring his features.

Aro bowed his head down a bit and shook it while he clicked his tongue twice and gave Carlisle an overly sympathetic look. Then he squinted his eyes and brought his hands together underneath his chin, the fingers touching each other at the tips creating a perfect triangle. He finally brought his head back up and glanced at me before returning his gaze to Carlisle.

"As you wish. But I still say … oggi a te, domani a me. She may not know it yet, but she will return to us again someday. And when she does, I will be more than welcoming." he stated simply, opening his hands while he said it and ending the preposterous statement with a defying clap.

At the sound of the clap, something within Carlisle awoke. Something I had never really witnessed before. Something belligerent. In an instant his shoulders straightened, his head lifted, his expression relaxed as did his grip on my hand. The changes were all very subtle. Most likely impossible for a human to notice, but they were definitely there and when he replied his entire demeanor had changed.

"Believe what you will. Lei confonde tutti noi. Giusto Aro?" he challenged with his newfound confidence, a conspicuous twinkling lit up his eyes like stars flickering against the night sky.

Aro snorted, but not in contempt. He seemed more… pleased; much like a father would be of his son. He granted Carlisle an approving nod, along with a wholehearted smile, as if to congratulate him. I don't know what little game these two were playing at, some form of vampire tug-o-war I hadn't yet been introduced to. Aro was testing him, but Carlisle seemed to have passed whatever test it was by making his last remark.

Marcus shook his head once more but looked away and didn't say anything else.

"Gentlemen," Carlisle then announced theatrically, and with a little bow he added, "it's been a pleasure."

And then he smirked.

My Carlisle.

_Smirked._

He threw the 'gentlemen' a last defying glare with one cocky eyebrow lifted as he turned away from them, and I stared at him stupidly for a few moments, somewhat taken aback by seeing him so, so…_audacious_.

My mind had some difficulty deciding what to make of this side to Carlisle. I had never seen it before, and up until this very moment, I would have never even expected he had it in him. Without another word from anyone, I felt him tighten his grip on my hand, not roughly, but boldly rather, and pull me along with him as he ran out the door and onto the streets of Volterra. We did not stop or speak even, before we reached the nearby woods, Carlisle running alongside me the whole way, a brilliant smile plastered on his face. I had to admit; I liked it.

After running through the woods for five minutes or so, I picked up the scent of some type of larger mammal, most likely a deer, and my body begged me to chase after it. I hadn't hunted in two days and after all the excitement in Volterra, I longed for the nourishment.

"Can I hunt?" I asked, still running. Not that I needed permission, but I didn't know if we were actually headed somewhere, or if Carlisle was just blowing off steam. Carlisle smiled back at me and nodded, so without slowing down I turned and followed the scent deeper into the woods.

Afterwards, I went back to where Carlisle and I had split up. From there I followed his scent to a clearing of sorts, a few miles deeper into the woods. I wasn't sure if I really wanted to know, but nevertheless I was going to ask him what Aro had said about me because it was obviously something that mattered to Carlisle. I didn't have to look for long until I found him.

Seemingly unaware of my presence, he sat squatted down approximately fifteen meters away from me at the bank of a small forest stream. Apparently he had been hunting, since he was using the running water to wash some bloodstains from the collar of his shirt. He wasn't usually a messy eater, but then again, he hadn't been acting anything like himself lately, ever since his 'thing' with Aro this morning.

His posture provided me with a clear view of his bare back and I could make out each of his strong muscles working below his colorless, marble skin. Water clung to his body like tiny drops of sweat and his blond hair was a little damp as well, probably from running his wet hands through it. The few rays of sunlight that managed to reach him through the canopy caused the illusion that delicate veins of gold ran through the right side of his face, his neck and his back, reflecting some of the light onto the vegetation around him as he gazed down into the water, lost in thought.

He was beautiful.

And so peaceful. I felt guilty for complicating his existence the way I had. If it weren't for me he wouldn't have to deal with all this… insanity. I knew that Aro had said something about me this morning, and that it had upset him. Maybe he had been playing on his guilt? I know Carlisle felt guilty towards me, in spite of all the times I told him he was being ridiculous. Guilty for changing me, for 'taking my soul' as he so believed. He would no longer call it that in front of me, but old habits die hard and I wasn't naïve enough to think he had discarded those beliefs completely, simply because I felt like he should.

Eleazar had told me that Carlisle's compassion was a gift in and of itself, as real as my shield and Aro's mind reading abilities. Carlisle had dismissed that statement rather quickly but I believed it was true. I had never met anyone, human or vampire, to even remotely rival his understanding, his kindness, or his patience. It struck me as ironic how he was able to bestow these traits upon everyone, but himself.

I was reminded of how I had believed him to be an angel during my transformation, because of how much he resembled one now; or at least _my idea_ of one, as he sat there by the water, seemingly unaware of my presence. I was downwind from him, and the sound of the water and of leaves rustling in the wind drowned out any noises I would have made. Quietly, I sat myself down on a fallen tree trunk and drank him in as he went about his business.

After a while, the shirt collar was as clean as it was going to get and he stood up so he could hang it to dry on a branch. He casually ruffled both hands through his restrained blond hair, causing his usually impeccable coiffure to run wild in the wake of his fingers. I chuckled as a mildly sarcastic voice in my head concluded that he really was living on the edge today.

Startled, he threw his head up and whipped it to face in my direction.

"I-Isabella," he stammered, dropping his gaze to the forest floor in shame. "I-I'm sorry, I' m not, uhm…decent. I…" He started backing away from me, holding up a _do not come any closer _hand.

So much for peaceful.

"Ugh, are you kidding?" I laughed. "Worried I'll steal your virtue?"

My good mood was not exactly infectious. Without further protest he did stop moving away from me, already ankle-deep in the water but he didn't relax a muscle so I ran over to him. The water felt warm on my ankles, the wavelets tickling my cold skin as I joined Carlisle in the shallow brook, standing before him with my hands placed defiantly on my hips.

"Mister Cullen," I started, raising a warning finger at him. "Besides being half naked," I snorted. "What is really bothering you? I don't know what happened back there with Aro, but I know he said something about _me_ and you are acting strangely because of it."

"I'm sorry," he repeated, with a face and voice like he just ate a puppy.

I rolled my eyes at him, and refused to let him fight me when I placed my hands on either side of his face and gave him a stern look.

"One of these days I will get you to stop that obsessive apologizing of yours," I promised. "Now, what did Aro say to you?"

Unless staring blankly down at the water below him qualified as a reaction, he didn't react. Right now he was doing a good job of making his old friend Marcus, look like the life of the party.

"Hellooo? Carlisle?"

He sighed deeply and hung his head even lower, becoming motionless again. Oh yes, being ignored by a bored Marcus would be lively, unpredictable, noisy merriment compared to this.

Well, he obviously wasn't comfortable telling me about it. Was he ashamed of something? Or was he afraid he'd hurt my feelings? I ran a frustrated hand through my hair which I rested on the back of my neck, and let out a big sigh to maintain my composure while I looked around for something to help me snap him out of his stupor. After all the times he had comforted me, told me everything was going to be alright, and was just, _there _for me; this was my chance to return the favor.

"Well, you asked for it," I announced, and brought my hands down to his wrists. He glanced at me quizzically right before, without any further warning, I hooked my right leg around his left and tackled him. He tried to remain upright, but the power of surprise combined with my hands on his wrists kept him from doing so, causing him to fall backwards into the water with me landing on top of him.

"Now look what you've made me do!" I yelled after I had lifted my head from the water, huffing and puffing in order to get the water out of my nose.

My hands pressed against his stone shoulders and I tried my best to sound accusatory, which proved impossible because I was laughing so hard. I couldn't see his face, because my hair was wet and it stuck to my face, but I knew it did the trick when I felt Carlisle's chest shaking underneath me. He was laughing too.

In one big movement I swung the hair from my face, to see him push his torso up and support himself by one elbow to keep his head above water. After some considerable huffing and puffing of his own –remind me to never laugh under water- I could hear the beautiful sounds of his laughter fill my ears.

We were both giggling like idiots when he placed one hand on my waist and used the other to help him move us sideways, until we were close enough to the banks for him to rest his head on it without being submerged, so he could laugh without inhaling water.

He laid his head down and groaned when an acorn dropped from a nearby tree and landed right between his eyes.

"And you say I am not doomed," he mumbled.

Still giggling, I buried my face in his neck. "Well, maybe you're slightly damned."

I felt good. I felt safe. And for the first time in a long time, I felt genuinely happy. After a while he turned his head a little in my direction and he let out what sounded like a happy sigh. The feeling of his breath blowing over my ear caused me to shiver lightly, and he chuckled.

"Miss Swan, you seem awfully unsteady on your feet this afternoon...," he said playfully, while he stroked his hands up to my shoulders and then back down again, to rest them on my lower back. "…falling down like this. And just now you appeared to be shivering. Are you coming down with something, or have you finally succumbed to my smashing good looks?"

I placed my forearms by the sides of his chest to hold me up so I could look at his face. His expression was serious, but his eyes where smiling. Even after all the laughter I hadn't expected this… _silliness, _and I wondered where it came from all of a sudden.

But still, I eagerly went with it. Because I loved this Carlisle; this fun, carefree, playful Carlisle.

"Good heavens no, kind sir; it's not _that _at all," I tried very hard to sound offended. "I was merely suppressing a laugh, for you see, you seem to have some elk stuck between your teeth."

"Hmmm yes, yes," he nodded with a pensive look, determined to stay in character. "And this bothers you, why?"

"Well 'bother' is too big a word I suppose, but I will say it certainly compromises those smashing good looks you mentioned earlier. It's hardly appealing for a member of the opposite sex."

"My fair lady, when you are a child of the night like me, pieces of mammal clinging to your fangs are considered a delicacy, and should therefore only add to my appeal. Do forgive me but you sound as though you have never kissed a vampire before," he said in mock surprise, and I snorted. Two could play this game.

"A lady does not kiss and tell."

"Uh-huh… That means I'm right doesn't it?"

"On the contrary! I have kissed many a vampire in my day. I used to do it all the time."

"Is that so?"

I nodded. "Oh yes. Every chance I got. But not anymore you see, for I've decided to only kiss things I have never kissed before. You know… expand my horizons, turning over a new leaf, and what not."

"Fascinating," he gasped with a little headshake, while narrowing his amused, amber eyes, not taking them off mine for a second. "Then might I ask; What _does _the lady kiss these days?"

"Anything I haven't kissed before, really."

"Such as?"

"Let me see." I started counting on my hands. "Well there's humans, frogs, elves, leprechauns, wizards, and oh… werewolves."

"I see, I see." He nodded his head in understanding and for quite some time, we were both still. I cleared my mind and focused on his breathing and I guessed he did the same with mine. We were always good at being still together.

"It's your loss, you know?" he said after a while.

"What?"

"Well since you are no longer kissing vampires, you will never get to experience my amazing kissing skills," he made it sound like a Shakespearean tragedy.

"That good, huh?" I chuckled.

"Legendary."

I was quiet for a few seconds and I slowly realized that at some point during the stillness, my mood had shifted. I wasn't simply playing anymore.

To my own surprise, I felt one of my hands -without my permission I might add- trail from his stomach all the way to one side of his neck in one fluent caress and start to tousle with his hair. I was being very gentle, but honestly, it was by no means a _friendly_ gesture. I don't remember allowing my hand to act so shamelessly, but removing, or stopping it seemed to be impossible.

Okay, so maybe it wasn't _impossible_, but it certainly would have been no fun.

Evidently I wasn't the only one who wasn't playing around anymore, because Carlisle closed his eyes and his breathing picked up.

Suddenly daring –because of his grip tightening on my waist? Seeing the effect my touch had on him? The sudden realization that I lay on top a good, scarcely clad, handsome man?- I dipped my head down and placed a small kiss on his sternum and he let out a soft moan when I did.

Well.

This was different.

Unsure of what to do now, I brought my face up until it was level to his. He looked at me with eyes blacker than I had ever seen them, but nothing about them felt threatening. He seemed to be somewhat nervous and apprehensive -quite like myself- but not in a bad way.

Although I had acted like a proper vixen moments ago, now I started to feel somewhat intimidated by the intimacy of the moment so I closed my eyes before I lost the courage to lower my face even closer to his.

"I wouldn't worry too much about my missing out on anything, Mister Cullen," I eventually whispered against his mouth.

"And why is that?" he asked in an uncharacteristically hoarse voice as he brought one of his hands to the back of my head and wove his fingers in my hair.

"Because…," I instinctively licked my lips, "I've never kissed a _doctor _before."

...

* * *

-:-

Ah…

L'amour…

…

According to Isabella's contemporary, the French actress best known as 'Mistinguett',  
_-A kiss can be a comma, a question mark or an exclamation point-_

If so, than what should we label _this_ kiss?

Could it be two things at once? Is it possible that a kiss is one thing to one person, and another to someone else? Could this for instance, have been an exclamation point to Carlisle, yet a question mark to Isabella?

A comma, to this story?

Or does a kiss become something else, only in hindsight? Do we make it into something that it, in essence, is not? Do we diminish what it really is, because of our need to label?

Because isn't the real truth, that a kiss…

…_is still a kiss?_

-:-

* * *

**Here's the heated conversation between Aro, Marcus and Carlisle, in English this time:**

_**A:**__- I'm glad you have found Isabella. She seems to lift your spirit. However, there is something you should know.  
__**M:**__- Aro! Stop it! There is no need for your silly games!  
__**C: -**__It's alright Marcus. If Aro has something he wishes to tell me, he is more than welcome to. So speak, Aro.__**  
A:**__- I'll admit that your infatuation with the girl is endearing Carlisle, but I'm sorry to say that it's hardly requited. Our friend Marcus has an eye for these things.  
__**M:**__- Nothing is set in stone, my friend. Things can always change.  
__**A:**__- Not these things.  
__**C:**__- We'll see.  
__**A:**__- As you wish. But I still say … yours today, mine tomorrow. She may not know it yet, but she'll be back here some day. And when she does, I will be more than welcoming.  
__**C:**__- Believe what you will. She confounds us all. Isn't that right Aro?_

**In all honesty, I'm not so sure about these last two chapters, so I would** love**, **_**love**_**, ****love ****it if you guys reviewed. Positive or negative, whatever is your honest opinion. **

**However, I do realize how sometimes reviewing can be a lot like Mike Newton; **_**easier said than done**_**. But even so… ****do**_**able.**_


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